The thimble shop opened before the kettles on the block had finished greeting their cups. Needles lined up along the counter, each with a lantern the size of a mustard seed, and practiced shining into their own eyes until the spool gave a small nod.
We asked the keeper, who keeps a spare thimble behind his ear like a hat for later. "They are not in a rush," he said. "The lantern is only a polite knock. One stitch is plenty if everyone has said hello first."
In the little book by the till someone had written, in handwriting as thin as a filament: "The blue cotton waited, and the stitch sat down nicely. Please do not skip the eye. — a grateful sleeve."